Part 19 (2/2)
”Tacit. In the woods. He should have been easy to spot. He's tall and strong and handsome, and has an eyepatch.”
”Ah” was all I said, stalling for time. Not for a moment did I consider telling the truth; instead I was simply trying to figure out which lie would be the most effective. ”But . . . you heard the Harper. They killed him.”
”No,” she said firmly, shaking her head. ”I don't believe that. I don't.”
”Why not? It is possible, isn't it?”
”No,” she told me. ”He is a great hero, destined for great deeds. I know it. I just know it.”
The thing was, she was right. That didn't make it any easier to hear. In fact, it made it harder.
Opting for a tack that would support vagueness instead of specific duplicity, I said, ”Princess, if he was was there, in the woods . . . if he was alive . . . wouldn't it be much likelier that he would have been the one to rescue you instead of me?” there, in the woods . . . if he was alive . . . wouldn't it be much likelier that he would have been the one to rescue you instead of me?”
She had no immediate reply to that, probably because she knew I was correct. Fortunately, she did not make the leap that perhaps the reason he hadn't taken a hand in the situation was because I had thwarted whatever intentions he might have had to do so. ”He could still be alive,” she said softly.
”True,” I admitted.
”And . . . he is a hero . . .”
”Well, you know, Princess, that's part of the problem.”
She looked up at me, clearly puzzled. ”Problem?”
”Yes, well . . . that's the difficulty with heroes, isn't it. They're very much in demand. People are always seeking them out to go on quests or lead rebellions or such. Their time isn't really their own. It's possible that Tacit became distracted by something, or pulled into some other adventure and was unable to attend to your situation.”
”I'm a princess. He was to rescue me. That's the most important thing a hero can do,” she said petulantly.
”With respect, Highness,” I said, trying my best to sound apologetic, ”heroes have a funny way of deciding for themselves what is or is not the most important thing they can do. And then, of course, there are the tragic heroes . . .”
”Tragic . . . ?”
”Yes. Heroes who fail in their quest. It happens sometimes. Look at Orpheus. What a disaster that was. His love remains trapped in the underworld because he couldn't keep eyes front, and he winds up being torn to pieces by Harpies.” I shook my head and, coming across as the most conciliatory person in the world, I said softly, ”It's all well and good to imagine oneself as the center of a great and epic adventure story, where good triumphs and evil is defeated. But the simple truth, Highness, is that you're a young woman, on the cusp of adulthood, and you have to come to terms with the fact that life simply isn't like that. Those who are evil have virtues; those who are good have flaws. And the outcome of the 'story,' if you will, isn't predicated on high-flown morality, but instead on who's smarter and better armed and luckier. That's simply the way of it and the truth of it, and not all the starry-eyed romantic notions of your beloved savior are going to change that.”
She said nothing for a good long time after that, but when she did speak, it was with quiet conviction.
”He'll come for me, Tacit will. And I will have my happy ending, squire, whether you like it or not, or believe in it or not. I will have my happiness.”
”May you have all the happiness that you deserve, Highness,” I said, and with that I leaned against the wall, keeping my hand wrapped around the hilt of my sword, and allowed myself to drift into a very light sleep.
Chapter 16.
When morning came, I found that she was leaning against me in her sleep. Not only that but, instinctively, she had wrapped her arms around one of mine. I looked down at her and, in repose, I found that she was in fact much prettier than I'd originally thought her. In fact, she bordered on lovely. There was something about the way her face was trapped in a perpetual sneer when she was awake that ruined her features.
”You're staring at me,” she said. Her eyes were still closed. I had no idea how she had known. ”Obviously you think I'm attractive.”
”I once spent an hour watching maggots crawl through the corpse of a boar,” I replied. ”There wasn't any aesthetic value to that; just a kind of morbid fascination.”
”You are a pointlessly vicious and mean person, and when we get back, I'm going to ask my father to behead you.”
”If we get back,” and I made a point of emphasizing the conditional word, ”your father will be so b.l.o.o.d.y grateful to me that he'll probably want to make me a knight.” we get back,” and I made a point of emphasizing the conditional word, ”your father will be so b.l.o.o.d.y grateful to me that he'll probably want to make me a knight.”
”My father will do as I ask.”
”Did you ask to remain at the castle instead of being sent away to the Faith Women?”
She looked down, giving me the answer without a vocal reply. ”I want you to stop bringing that up,” she said with obvious irritation.
”As you wish, Highness,” I said. The Prince of Obedience, that was me.
There was a chill fog hanging over the woods, which on some level was a good thing. Anything which would make it problematic for the Harpers Bizarre to spot us from overhead weighed in our favor. On the other hand, the chill carried with it more than just a feel of early morning. I had the distinct feeling that we were experiencing a definite climatic s.h.i.+ft . . . not surprising since we had gone so far north. As I stood, stretched my legs, and swung my arms around to restore circulation, I considered our options and didn't like what I was coming up with.
”What's wrong?” she demanded. She could obviously see the concern in my face.
”I'm worried about how far north we are,” I said. ”The north is renowned for its early and fearsome winters. If the cold is truly moving in . . .” I didn't finish the sentence. I didn't have to. Even the princess, still caught up in her dreams of the heroic Tacit and happy endings, had to see the danger inherent in such a situation.
”I'm hungry,” she said abruptly.
Truth to tell, so was I. I looked around at the vegetation; there seemed to be some plants that appeared edible. Mushrooms and such. But then I saw something stirring in the brush nearby.
Without a moment's hesitation, I pulled my dagger from its sheath on my leg and threw it. It thudded into the brush and, a moment later, a reasonably sized rabbit tumbled out.
”Breakfast,” I said.
If the princess was appalled by the notion of feasting on something as relentlessly cute as a rabbit, she gave no sign of it. Instead she sat quietly and watched as I skinned it, never averting her eyes. My estimation of her climbed ever so slightly.
But then my estimation promptly dropped off again as she said petulantly, ”You have no plans to cook it?”
”I told you; I don't want to light a fire if I do not have to.”
”I think,” she said very deliberately, in an obvious attempt to egg me on, ”that you're afraid to light it . . . because Tacit might then locate us, and you figure your life is forfeit.”
”You can think whatever you wish.”
”Then perhaps I'll light my own fire.”
”Yes, you obviously have a great deal of experience at that. Aiming to burn down an entire forest this time?”
She glared at me once more. Endeavoring to look as nonchalant as possible, I carved a piece out of the rabbit and extended it to her. Blood was still dripping from it. She looked at it distastefully. ”You first,” she said, perhaps thinking that I believed the entire matter to be some sort of ”dare” situation.
Shrugging, I reversed the knife and popped the piece into my mouth. I chewed happily; not because of the taste of the raw rabbit, which was chewier than I would have liked, but from the look on the princess's face. I felt blood trickling down the side of my face. I didn't bother to wipe it off. Something in me took delight in causing her to react in disgust.
”Well? Aren't you going to build us a fire?” I said. ”Using your considerable experience?” I carved off another piece.
”You really think I burned down the Faith Women's retreat, don't you.”
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